Looming Murder (11 page)

“How about I come by and fill out the forms later, say around four or so?” he asked, looking in better spirits.

The whole murder thing had dampened my excitement for the building, but not enough to change my mind. “Okay.”

He turned back to Matthew. “About the police—what am I supposed to do? Do I just sit around and wait for them to arrest me?”

“I think you should get yourself a criminal lawyer.”

I gasped. “Won’t that make him look guilty?”

Matthew shook his head. “Who cares how it looks? Anybody would be a fool to let the police question them without a lawyer present.”

David suddenly looked exhausted. “I guess I can call the lawyer who’s taking care of my divorce.”

Matthew shook his head. “What you need is a criminal lawyer, not a divorce lawyer. I know a good one—John Pattullo. His practice is in Charlotte, but he lives about twenty minutes from here, in Belmont. He works from home, unless he has to be in court. Give him a call. If he’s there now, maybe he can see you right away.”

“Er, my car is in the shop. I got a flat tire this morning.” It occurred to me that I hadn’t noticed his car when I went to meet him. But if he was on foot, when did he pick up his car? Again I got that niggling feeling that he was hiding something.

Matthew pulled out his cell phone, punched in a number and handed it to him. “If he’s available now, I’ll drive you myself.”

•   •   •

After arranging to meet with the lawyer in half an hour, the men left. I couldn’t help noticing that they didn’t ask me to join them. Not that I wanted to go, but it might have been nice to feel included. As it was, I was still shaky from finding Jeremy’s body, and I hated being alone.

I helped myself to yet another cup of coffee and threw the bag of now mushy peas in the garbage. The bump on my forehead had all but disappeared, but my ankle and my ribs still killed. I got the bottle of Advil and took a second tablet, gulping it down with a mouthful of coffee. I returned to the table and closed my eyes, rubbing my temples.

Of course, the first thing that flashed through my mind was the image of Jeremy’s body.

Here I was, miles away from Charlotte, in what I’d believed would be a safe little town, and I’d stumbled upon a murder. As awful as I felt, I didn’t feel nearly as bad as I had last year when I’d stumbled upon the evidence of my boss’s embezzling. Of course, the victim here was not someone I knew, and I was not considered a suspect—or at least I didn’t think I was. The point was that I felt stronger these days. Strangely, it had taken this shattering event for me to notice that the burnout, or depression, or whatever it was I’d been going through, was gone. I was my old self again.

Welcome back, Della.

I
had been sitting quietly for about twenty minutes and the second pill was just starting to do its job when the phone rang.

“Hello, dear.”

Oh, God, just the person I didn’t need to talk to right now. “Hi, Mom,” I said, hoping my voice sounded cheerier than I felt.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me, dear. I was just talking to June, and she announced that Matthew is back in Briar Hollow”—I cringed, imagining that conversation between my mother and his. Sure enough, the pitch of her voice rose to that of a lottery winner—“and living with you,” she concluded excitedly.

“Don’t get your hopes up, Mom. We’re living in the same house, not living together. There’s a big difference.”

“Still, Della, if you play your cards right—”

“I’ll only be here a few more weeks at most—until I get a place of my own, which, by the way, I’ve already found.”

There was silence at the other end, and I imagined her biting her lips, trying to come up with an argument.

“How is June?” I asked, hoping to steer her away from the subject.

“She’s well. Of course she’s disappointed that Matthew left town. She loved having him live so close for a few months.” It occurred to me that living farther away from June might have been an added enticement to Matthew’s decision to move back here. His mother and mine were two of a kind.

“Are you sure you want to move out? I was thinking that maybe—”

“I know what you were thinking. It’s not going to happen.” If my meddling mother had her way, she’d probably wheedle him into marrying me.

“I don’t understand why you won’t at least try. You and he would make such a nice—”

“Mom, stop it.”

I heard the disappointment in her voice. “Oh, all right,” she said, giving up the battle if not the war. “About your condo—now that Matthew’s moved out, what are you planning to do with it? Maybe you should try to rent it furnished. I was speaking to Mrs. Johnson—you remember her—she was—”

Before she could launch into one of her long-winded stories about some relative stranger, I cut her off. “Funny you should say that, because renting it furnished is exactly what I’ve decided to do. And that reminds me. I should call my agent right now. Otherwise I’ll forget.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to you later. Love you.”

“Love you too, Mom.” After hanging up, I rummaged through my purse until I found my agent’s business card. I picked up the phone and punched in her number.

“Samantha Altman,” she answered on the first ring. On hearing my voice, she immediately launched into an apology. “I’m sorry, Della, I swear I haven’t forgotten about you. Sales have been really slow lately. It’s not only your condo. It’s all real estate. I’ve hardly sold anything in months.”

“I know. Real estate is in a slump all over the country. Which brings me to what I wanted to talk to you about. I’m considering holding on to it until the market turns around. What do you think of renting it furnished until then?”

“Fabulous idea,” she said without hesitation.

“That’s a better reaction than expected. Do you really think you can rent it more easily than you can sell it?”

“Absolutely. In fact, if that’s what you decide to do, I have a client who’s looking for a place just like yours. He’s an IBM executive from New York. His company gave him a budget of three thousand dollars a month for a place to stay while he oversees a new project out here. His wife and children are staying in New York, so he’ll be commuting back and forth weekly. All he needs is a one-bedroom, but it has to be in the heart of Center City. And your place is so beautiful. I just know he’ll love it. What do you think?”

I was almost dizzy with excitement. “Three thousand a month? Are you serious?”

“I know it sounds like a lot, but it’s still cheaper for him than the price of a hotel suite.”

“Please, make him sign on the dotted line before he changes his mind.”

She laughed. “Tell you what—I’ll take him out and show him your condo this afternoon. If he likes it, the deal is as good as done.” She reminded me that the first month’s rent would go toward her commission, which was fine with me. I was still dancing on the ceiling at the thought of thirty-six thousand dollars a year, which was laughable, really, considering how much less it was than what I used to earn as a business analyst.

“I can’t thank you enough.”

“I’ll let you know the minute I have news.”

After hanging up, I let out a whoop. A few feet away, Winston jumped to his feet, startled, and looked at me as if I had just lost my mind.

“Three thousand dollars a month, Winston! Can you believe it?” He tilted his head, trying to understand—gave up and settled back down.

Three thousand dollars would cover the mortgage payments and utilities on my condo, and still leave some money—albeit not much—but maybe enough to cover a portion of the rent on my new place. It struck me then that my decision to move was firm.

I
was halfway through a beautiful green and white basket-weave strip, using only one foot on the treadles because of my bum ankle, when I heard a knock at the door. I put down my work, grabbed my crutches and shuffled to answer. By the time I opened the door, Susan Wood was stepping all over my bed of petunias, trying to peek through the living room window. She spun around to face me.

“Oh, hi,” she said, not looking the least bit embarrassed at being caught snooping. “I waited so long, I thought nobody was home.” She looked, in fact, delighted.

I checked my watch. To my surprise, it was already a few minutes past one. “Sorry. I forgot to put out the ‘Open’ sign. Come on in.”

She stepped in and then noticed my crutches. “What in the world?”

“Sprained ankle,” I said and led the way to my desk. “I’ll be better in no time.”

She seemed on the verge of asking me something, and then changed her mind. She went straight to Kate Radley’s gift-wrapped parcels, but instead of picking them up, she stage-whispered, “I heard the news. You must have been terrified.”

Good God, was everyone in town a gossip? “What are you talking about?” I asked, pretending not to know.

She looked startled. “I heard Jeremy Fox was murdered and that you found his body. Are you telling me it’s not true?”

I shook my head. “No, it’s true. Jeremy Fox is dead, and David Swanson and I found the body.”

And then, adopting a tone almost identical to Officer Bellows, she said, “Of course it was murder, but how was he killed? Was it a gun? A knife?”

“I have no idea. He was lying in the middle of the floor. All I could tell was that he was dead.”

“Was there blood?”

I grimaced, reluctant to go into details. “There was some.”

She frowned. “Well, if there was blood, no one can claim he died of natural causes.”

“Are you suggesting the police would want to cover up a murder? Why would they want to do that?”

“No, no, I didn’t mean anything like that. But sometimes people make mistakes. This is the second murder in Briar Hollow this year, and the first was pegged an accident. Mark my words—one of these days it’ll come out that Dolores’s husband was murdered.”

I didn’t believe that for a second, and was rather shocked at how so many of the townsfolk participated in malicious gossip.

“The coroner declared it an accident,” I said in a no-nonsense tone.

“The coroner!” She crossed her arms and smiled. “Dr. Cook must be eighty years old. He’s lived here all his life and probably attended half the births around here. He sees nothing but good in people. He would never believe anyone from this town could be a killer.” She grew thoughtful. “I spoke to Marsha this morning. She told me she was at Jeremy’s when he got a phone call last night. He went rushing out the minute he hung up—around nine thirty—saying he’d be back in an hour. When he didn’t return, she went home.” She shook her head, smiling conspiratorially. “Probably slamming the door behind her, if you ask me.”

“You talked to her today?” I was astonished. “You mean, after she found out about Jeremy’s death?”

“She and I are next-door neighbors. When Mike broke the news to her, she was so distraught that he came banging on my door and asked me to keep her company.”

Susan had stirred my curiosity. “Did she tell you who he was meeting?”

“Unfortunately, he didn’t tell her. She checked the call display after he left, but it was a confidential number. Knowing Jeremy, he could have been seeing another woman”—she leaned in and whispered—“which is probably why she wanted to know who called, and why I would be willing to bet she left in a huff.”

I scrunched up my forehead. “How well did you know him?”

“I worked for Jeremy until a couple of months ago. That was when I began suspecting his project was a scam. I couldn’t in good conscience stay. When I gave him my notice, Kate and David asked me to stay with the company and work for them. I would’ve liked to warn people, but I couldn’t without some kind of proof.”

“It was you,” I said, as it came to me. “You did it.”

S
u
san looked taken aback. “What are you talking about? Are you accusing me of something?”

“You leaked that environmental report, didn’t you?” Her frown melted into a smile, but she admitted nothing. I was beginning to like this woman. “Tell me about Jeremy Fox.”

She sniffed. “What can I say? The man was a sociopath. When the contamination report came out, he pretended to be just as shocked as his investors. He went around assuring everyone that this was just a temporary setback, that their money was still safe with him. I feel sorry for anyone who invested in that ridiculous project of his. They might as well forget about that money. They’ll never see a dime of it again.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “I think something must have happened before Jeremy was killed, because his whole demeanor changed almost overnight. He stopped pretending that everything was just dandy. He got into this really foul mood and spent all his time having whispered conversations on the phone. And judging by the dark circles under his eyes, I don’t think he got much sleep either.” She nodded knowingly. “He was scared of something, if you ask me.”

“Maybe somebody was suing him.”

“Maybe,” she said, making it sound highly unlikely, and looked at her watch. “Uh-oh. I should get back.” She picked up the parcels.

“If you find out anything, let me know,” I said, and then surprised myself by adding, “Anything I can do to help, just ask.”

At the door, she turned. “Oh, I almost forgot. I’ll drop off my loom tomorrow if that’s okay.”

“That would be great.” I closed the door and hobbled to the kitchen.

The day’s events were catching up with me. I felt sore, tired and gloomy. Not that I believed her theory, but hearing another person claim that Dolores’s husband had been murdered was unnerving. I returned to my loom with murder on my mind.

•   •   •

The door swung open and Matthew stomped in, his brow furrowed. He waited for Winston to trudge in behind him and then shut the door hard, sending the bell into hysterics.

“Uh-oh, somebody is in a bad mood,” I said, grabbing my crutches.

“If you’re talking about me, you’re wrong,” he snapped back, unclipping Winston from his leash. “There’s nothing wrong with my mood.”

“And slamming doors is something you do just for the heck of it,” I said teasingly.

He scowled at me. “I did not slam it. I . . .” He gave up. “Okay, fine. So I’m in a bad mood.” He glanced around, seeming at a loss for a moment, and then marched off toward the kitchen.

I followed, working my crutches as fast as I could—which was not all that fast. “What’s wrong?”

He wrenched the fridge door open. “Nothing’s wrong.” He grabbed a Heineken, dropped it on the counter with a bang. And then, yanking drawer after drawer open only to slam them shut again, he mumbled, “Why can’t I ever find a damn thing in this place?”

I opened the knife drawer, got the bottle opener and brandished it. “Is this what you’re looking for?”

He took it, embarrassed. He popped the top off his bottle and threw the opener into the dishcloth drawer. “Why is it that women always have to keep moving everything around?”

“Moody, aren’t we? Whatever happened to ‘Thank you’?” I fished the opener back out from where he’d just dropped it and waved it, opening the knife drawer again. “And by the way, the bottle opener goes in here, along with knives, can openers and scissors.” I slammed the drawer shut. “If you kept any kind of order in this place, you wouldn’t constantly be searching for things.”

“You’re right,” he said sheepishly. He turned to face me and leaned against the counter, looking like an imminent thunderstorm.

“I stopped by the station to see Mike.” He took a swig from his beer. He smiled crookedly and shrugged, mellowing slightly. “Let’s just say it didn’t go well. I guess I didn’t exactly pick the best time to drop by—what with the murder and everything. His phone was ringing off the hook with people calling to find out if it was true and wanting to know how they’re going to get their money back now that the bastard is dead.”

“Gee. People are really broken up about the man’s death, aren’t they?” I leaned my crutches against the wall and sat, propping my elbows on the table. “I thought you and Mike were friends.”

He gave me something between a smile and a scowl. “We had a disagreement last winter. I thought he’d be over it by now.” He took another swig. “I was wrong.”

“Why? What happened?”

He shrugged, and under his casual demeanor I sensed real conflict. “Since then, whenever I see him, he pretends everything is fine. Today he talked about stuff—football, baseball. He even talked about the case, but he wouldn’t look me in the eye. I called him on it, and for a moment I thought he was going to punch me.”

“That’s more than just weird. That’s scary,” I said. And disregarding my little voice, which was telling me loud and clear to drop it, I said, “What was the disagreement about?”

He glared at me, grabbed his beer. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, and walked out. I struggled out of my chair and back onto my crutches, following him to the front room. Winston lumbered behind me. When I got there, Matthew was standing in the middle of what used to be his living room, looking frustrated.

“I keep forgetting that my La-Z-Boy is gone.”

I might have made a derogatory comment about that chair, but this was perhaps not the right time. Besides, I was dying to hear more about Mike. But before I had a chance to say anything, he spun around and stormed back to the kitchen. Winston and I trailed behind once again. I got to the kitchen in time to see him pull out a chair and plop himself down.

“You’ve got to stop running around all over the house,” I snipped, dropping into the chair across from him. “Walking isn’t so easy on these things.”

“You don’t have to follow me.”

I altered the tone of my voice. “Jenny told me that Mike’s personality changed suddenly last fall. Do you know if anything happened around that time?” I’d already heard Jenny’s version, and not that I didn’t believe her, but I was curious about Matthew’s take on the situation. “I mean, people don’t just change for no good reason.”

A thoughtful look appeared on his face. “Actually, he did change quite suddenly, and not just his personality, although that’s what was most noticeable. He lost a lot of weight too, and was wound so tight he looked ready to explode all the time.” He thought again. “That was about the time he asked Jenny for a divorce.”

“That’s another thing that doesn’t make any sense.” I folded my arms on the table. “Jenny said they were really happy together; then, out of the blue, he asked her for a divorce. I don’t get it. Was he having an affair or something?”

“No.” He seemed to weigh what he was about to say. “You have to promise you won’t breathe a word of this to her. She has no idea about any of this.”

“I promise,” I said.

“He thought Jenny was having an affair.”

“Why?”

“That’s what my disagreement with him was about. I told him he was nuts to think she would ever cheat on him, that he was a real jerk for leaving her.” He stopped suddenly and scowled.

“And?” I prompted.

His eyes turned dark. “He asked me if I was sleeping with her too.”

My jaw dropped.

He took a swig of his beer. “That was the single most insulting thing he could ever have said to me. Jenny is a friend. I like her because she’s open and honest, and because she made him happy. I know she can be a bit flaky with all her woo-woo stuff, but when it came to her husband, that woman was as straight as they come. She would have died for him, and he just threw her away like a rag.” The sincerity in his voice was unmistakable. “How could he even imagine I’d be interested in his wife? He and I have known each other all our lives. Even if I was the kind of man—like Jeremy Fox—who doesn’t think twice about seducing married women, I was never attracted to her. No offense to Jenny, but I think of her as a sister.”

He let out a
pfft
of frustration. “I think Mike must have had some kind of midlife crisis or something.” He shrugged. “Or maybe he’s just nuts.”

I turned that over in my mind for a bit. “If Mike didn’t confide in you, maybe there’s somebody else he talked to. Isn’t there someone he’s close to? A longtime friend, or maybe a brother?”

Matthew rubbed his chin. “He was always close to his father. If there was anyone he would have confided in, it was him.” I nodded my encouragement. “But his old man died about five years ago—prostate cancer.”

“What about his mother?”

He shook his head. “He’s not close to her. In fact, I don’t think he’s spoken to her in years—not since she left his father shortly after he was diagnosed. She’d been having an affair with another man for years. Mike never forgave her.”

“It sounds like he was devastated.”

“Funny thing is, I don’t think it hurt his old man nearly as much as it did him. His parents had been fighting for years. I think it came almost as a relief to his father when she finally left. But Mike didn’t see it that way. He was convinced that if only his mother had stayed, his father would have survived the cancer.”

There was a long silence before he glanced at me, his expression suddenly sullen. “By the way, you had no business offering my help to David that way. I’m not a lawyer. I’m a criminologist.”

“I know, but you help the Charlotte police on all kinds of cases. Why wouldn’t you want to help David? You told me yourself he’s your friend.”

He softened. “He is, but I told Mike I’d help him on this case. I can’t very well help both sides.”

“I don’t get it. Isn’t the police’s job to go after the truth? It shouldn’t matter who you help as long as the police find the real killer.”

He scowled.

“Where is David now?”

He shrugged. “I dropped him off at the garage to pick up his car.”

“He didn’t tell you anything about his appointment?”

“No. He kept it all to himself. Lawyer-client confidentiality, remember?”

“Right, I knew that.” If David told Matthew what had been discussed in private with his lawyer, the confidentiality bond would be considered broken, and Matthew could then be compelled to testify in court about what David had told him.

“Sure, you did,” he said teasingly.

“I did too,” I said, and then I saw the amused glint in his eyes and my breath caught in my throat. “Sometimes you irritate the heck out of me,” I said, blushing furiously.

He chuckled, giving me the sneaking suspicion that he’d gotten a real charge out of getting me flustered.